


FRIEND

by Octotrooper



Category: Splatoon
Genre: Gen, Hero Mode, Illustrated, Illustrations, Octarians - Freeform, Octo Expansion DLC Spoilers, Origin Story, Splatoon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2020-01-25 19:30:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18581095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octotrooper/pseuds/Octotrooper
Summary: Marina's childhood and escape to Inkopolis... through the eyes of her childhood best friend. Featuring all original illustrations!This story contains spoilers for Octo Expansion and Hero Mode. If you have not finished them and don't want to be spoiled, leave now!





	1. Pt. 1

I was still half asleep, flopped over onto my stomach, when I saw the message.

**Tough_And_Tall: Hey, sorry but I’m leaving.**

_AWWW, FISH ‘N CHIPS!_ I heard my Cephalo-Communicator buzz an hour earlier, but I thought it was probably my hours for next week’s shift at Takosports Outlet, so I didn’t wake up. I didn’t realize it was from _her!_

I frantically tapped a tentacle over the keys. I hadn’t heard much from her since she was promoted to Octozon two years ago – now she’s leaving?

  
  
**BOMBBOY: what da clamshuck r u talkin about?**

**Tough_And_Tall: I’m blowing this place. Found something better. No time to explain. Bye!**

**BOMBBOY: for eel???? u get a job in octovalley? Ik you went to da concert there yesterday**

**Tough_And_Tall: No, that’s not what I meant… I mean I’m LEAVING leaving.**

**BOMBBOY: ???**

**Tough_And_Tall: You wouldn’t understand. But I might never see you again.**

**BOMBBOY: WHAT**

**Tough_And_Tall: Goodbye.**

**BOMBBOY: WAIT**

**BOMBBOY: DONT**

**_Tough_And_Tall has blocked you from sending messages_ **

What the fresh shell was she talking about? I was only her best friend since the elementary training program!

_-x-_

_Cod, has it really been that long?_

I still remembered the first time I saw her. She was really short then. Looked just like a baby Twintacle-type, with the two fat, red tentacles hanging over her face and pale, stumpy little legs in a pair of shiny training boots. There were no visual signs yet of what she was going to become. I was already quite round, so everyone knew I was going to end up as a Bomber-type, but I still only had the one tentacle on top. (The others would start growing in five years later.)

“Hi I’m Marina what’s your name I like to build things hey do you like to do that too and if you do then do you wanna go play with the blocks and make a biiiiig robot spaceman?” That was exactly how she said it – all one sentence, all one breath. I wasn’t sure how to respond and sat there with my mouth open for what felt like forever.

“My name is Porter,” I finally said. “Sure I’ll play with you.”

We spent the rest of indoor playtime flopped over next to the toy chest and building. I liked to make tall towers and then crash into them head-first, sending blocks flying everywhere. Marina had other ideas. She built toy robots out of cardboard and construction paper and was already starting to add gears to her creations. By the end of the week her robots were walking around – stiffly, but functional. I was fascinated. So were the other kids. The teacher had a funny look on her face that I wouldn’t understand until years later.

After that day, Marina stopped showing up to our early-learning classes, but we still hung out together on the playground at recess. She always had lots of stories about what was going on in the special classes she was taking.

“I stuffed a Squee-G in my backpack!” she hissed, purple lips curled into the goofiest grin imaginable. “Don’t let Mrs. Pacific see!” She shuffled a weird, fish-shaped robot out from between several textbooks and placed it on the ground. Then she spat out a big stream of ink, right at my feet!

“Hey, watch it!” I said. “You almost blasted me with that!”

“But I wanna show you what it can dooooooo!” Marina was bouncing up and down. She used a tentacle to flick the switch on its back. The fish-shaped robot sprang to life and started beeping furiously, cleaning up the ink in a diligent and deliberate manner. I scrunched my face.

“Why would you wanna _clean up_ your own ink?”

“It’s to keep out the Inkling Menace!” Her face broke out into a big grin. That’s when I saw that something was different about her.

“Hey…. what happened?” One of her beak-teeth was broken off.

“ _Gurrrrrrgle_? What do you mean?”

“Your mouth!” I would have pointed a tentacle at the missing tooth, but the one on my head was too short to move. “It’s busted!”

“Oh…” She shrugged her tentacles. “Some big kid said I was too tall to be a good Twintacle and that I was gonna grow up to be a traitor.”

“So he sucker-punched you?”

“Hit me with his lunch box. An’ it was an Octostomp lunch box, so it was real big and heavy. But don’t worry! It’ll grow back!” She gave me another gap-toothed smile. Her mouth wasn’t what I was worried about. What did he mean, “too tall to be a good Twintacle”? She was getting to be kind of lanky, yeah, but Octarians came in all shapes and sizes! Nobody could be too-tall or too-short!

_So what, exactly…?_

It wouldn’t be long until I found out “what, exactly."


	2. Pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porter gets a clue that might explain Marina's strange behavior.

Marina leaving? After getting herself all the way up to the top? She was such a trusted Octozon that she was one of the guards at the Deej’s Wasabi Storehouse! Leaving? Really!? For where!? And why!?

My mind reeled. It was a Top-Secret mission, that was for certain. Was she going to infiltrate Inkopolis as a spy? Steal the Zapfish all by herself? Was she hand-chosen as an ambassador to the Salmonid Court? Did Octavio want to collaborate with her on a super-spicy new dance track!?

I frowned. Something seemed off. If it really was a secret mission, she could leave her CC at home. She wouldn’t have to block me on the OctoSpot Chat hub. So where was she _really_ going?

I slid off the bed. As an Octarian, every instinct I had told me to put forth my whole effort in everything I did. I knew I had a better shot than most species at catching Marina before she left for… wherever she was going. But I would also have to miss work, and that was not diligence. At all. The conflict between the two was making my stomach feel like it was on fire.

I opened up the doors to the armoire my guardians had salvaged for me. Inside was my collection of bottlecaps (I have over 100, no duplicates!) and four pairs of boots. Two pairs were everyday black boots, there was a pair of Heli-Hat flight boots with skids on the bottom for safe landing, and a pair of boots that were dark blue, reserved for special occasions. I obviously couldn’t wear the skids with no Heli-Hat to go with it, but I was stumped as far as the others. Did confronting a friend count as a special occasion?

_If it’s really the last time I’ll ever see her…_

I slid my feet into the blue boots. I rarely got the chance to wear them, so the bottoms were still stiff and uncomfortable. I hoped they’d break in a bit during the day. I had a lot of walking to do.

-x-

I strapped a small pack around my right shoulder, threw in a few ration bars (with chocolate chips!) inside of it, and headed down the hallway. Everyone else in my family unit was either Copter-types or Trooper-types, so the ceilings in the hallway were almost too low for me. I didn’t mind. I thought small spaces were cozy. (Biology class a few weeks ago was about our feral, aquatic octopus ancestors cramming themselves into tiny dens. Maybe that’s why I felt so comfortable?)

“Where you off to?” That deep voice came from Bronner, an older Twintacle Octarian in charge of raising the rest of us. He was standing in front of the stove, one red tentacle wrapped around a cast-iron pan and the other holding a glass of chilled ginger juice. “Didn’t think you had work ‘til later.”

“Marina’s acting weird,” I said.

“ _Blorp?_ Marina? Haven’t heard that name since she got promoted. What’s she up to these days?”

 

“That’s the thing, she said she was leaving, and that she wouldn’t see me again, and then she just blocked me!” I blubbered loudly, tears made of ink welling at the sides of my eyes. Bronner squinted his big, round eyes. He made a long, confused humming noise. He gulped down the rest of his juice and moved the pan off of the hot burner.

“…She go to that concert last night?” Bronner finally asked, purple lips pursed together.

“…Yeah, why?”

“Ohhh, no. Oh, clams.” He looked like he’d swallowed a whole jar of umeboshi plums. “That’s NOT good.”

“Why?” Tears were welling up in my eyes again. The day had just become even more confusing – what was wrong with going to a DJ Octavio concert? I had tons of his music and was waiting for a day where I’d be able to hear it live - they were supposed to be spectacular events! Flashing lights! Thundering bass! Those heart-pounding beats! And Octavio’s live mixes always had a crazy effect on Octarians. Everyone always said they left the arenas with their head all mushy, not able to remember exactly what they saw, but feeling thoroughly awesome. A DJ Octavio concert was a big deal!

“You ever heard of the Calimari Inkantation?”

“The wha…?”

“Aaagh, they should’ve taught you that in school!” Bronner’s face scrunched again. “Guess they stopped after the Bluefin Incident.”

“We just learned about the Bluefin Incident,” I said. “Does it have something to do with Inklings?”

“Oh, does it ever,” Bronner growled. “It’s one of the earliest examples of songs that effect Octarian minds. Does weird stuff to yer mind. Makes you dance uncontrollably.”

“So do Octavio’s Beats,” I said, slowly.

“This one contorts loyalties. Makes you want to hang out with _Inklings_.” Bronner threw a few pieces of breakfast food on a plate. “An’ there was a break-in at the concert last night, where that stupid old-salt-squid blasted it over the speakers. Seems like everyone there is talkin’ about headin’ for the surface now. Here.” He placed the plate on the low table near me.

“No thanks, I’m not hungry.” There _was_ a pang in my stomach, but it wasn’t from hunger.

“Eat it. You’ll need top strength if you wanna catch an Octozon. ‘Specially an elite like Marina.” He placed a teacup on the table. “How much wasabi you want in this?”

“Eight shakes,” I said, kneeling down at the table and picking up a slice of bread. “I’m gonna need the energy.” I bit into the bread as Bronner began shaking wasabi powder into the steaming tea. The bread was very soft. Bronner probably picked up a new loaf from the bakery that morning.

In front of me were lots of delicious things. Fried eggs and a big slice of melon made it look like my plate was smiling at me. I was anything but happy as I poked my fork into the eggs.

It didn’t escape me that Bronner was actually _encouraging_ me to miss work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whenever I'm showing an imaginary culture, I always like talking about what foods they eat. I think showing what foods are similar and what foods are different helps make a fictional world look more "real." This is the first time I've ever drawn out one of the meals, tho.


	3. Pt. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the trolley ride to Marina's house, Porter remembers a day long ago.

Marina’s family unit’s nest was deeper in the city than mine, on the second floor of a large jug with several other apartments inside. The trolley ride there only took twenty minutes. It felt like it was taking half a year.

I still remembered the first time I visited the little apartment.

“You’re looking for _Marina?_ ” the Hurler-type in the doorway had asked, holding a bucket full of different-sized boots for wash day in her tentacles. “Are you _sure?_ ”

“I wanted to play with her,” I said, attempting to lift one of the stubby tentacles growing at my sides. “I haven’t seen her in forever.”

“She’s been very ill.” The Hurler-type pursed her lips. “I don’t think she can – “

“OH MY COD, Porter!?” There was a scuffling sound as Marina bounded into the room, clearly not sick. My jaw dropped. The last time I’d seen Marina, she looked like a lanky, but otherwise normal, Twintacle-type. Now, I wasn’t sure _what_ to call her. She had a long torso… and two long arms growing out of a pair of shoulders… and a _neck._

“Uhhh, Marina?”

“Yeah?” The same lopsided grin I’d always known spread across her face. She was holding a small octopus-shaped robot in her stubby arms.

“What… what happened to you?” I asked. “You’re tall now!” Marina’s face fell. She stared at the ground for a few moments.

“It’s not that important,” she finally said, shrugging her new shoulders.

“But I wanna know! You look like you’re half Inkling! Are you gonna be alright!?” The tentacle at the top of my head twitched wildly. Marina looked up at her Hurler guardian as if asking what to do.

“You can tell him, Reena,” the Hurler-type said.

“At least come to my room,” Marina said. “I’ve got lotsa stuff to show you.”

-x-

“Your room’s _way_ messier than mine.”

“Oh, clam up!” But it was true. Marina had more scrap parts on her floor than I had bottlecaps in my closet. There were a few finished projects peeking out from under metal sheets – Squee-Gs with random additions, mostly – but it was the cobbled-together piano in the corner of the room that had me the most curious. I pressed a button on the front and the keyboard began to glow teal.

“Whoooooooa,” I said.

“ _Gur-gurrrgle!_ Don’t touch my OctoKeys!”  Marina’s face was all screwed up with panic.

“Why not?” I asked. “It’s cool!”

“Cuz I’m not finished with it yet,” she said, fidgeting with the tentacles on the octopus robot in her arms. “It doesn’t make the right kind of sounds.”

“ _Blurb?_ Sounds?”

“I wanna join OCTOTOOL when I grow up,” Marina explained. “They’re like the best band in the Underground for the last thirty years. But I can’t get this stupid, dumb thing to work!” She fiddled with a few of the knobs on the machine, then pressed a key. The OctoKeys made a loud, long burp. I laughed so hard that I fell over onto a pile of scrap metal.

“That’s hilarious! How did you get it to do that!? Can you make it burp the National Anthem!?”

“Nooooo! It’s supposed to be making a _boop_ , not a _burp_!” Marina made a frustrated burbling noise. “I can build all these robots but can’t build a keyboard!”

“Yeah, but your robots are good,” I said, leaning down to get a better look at one of the Squee-Gs. It sprayed me in the face with cleaning fluid. Marina giggled.

“That’s what you get for messing with my bots,” she said. There was silence for a few moments. Then…

“So what exactly is your deal, Marina?” I asked. “You’re all stretched out, and you don’t go to normal school, and you make all these robots. Why?”

“Mama says,” she began, fidgeting wildly with the octopus robot in her arms, “that I’m an Octoling, not a Twintacle. So, I’m different.”

“Is that why you’re taller than me, now?”

“Yeah.” Marina’s purple lips quivered. “I’m gonna get all weird looking like they are. With those tiny lips and the… the _fingers,_ a-an’ the… bleeehhhhh!” She stuck out her purple tongue. “ _Really_ don’t wanna be an Octoling!”

“Wait, but the DJ’s an Octoling!” I reminded her. “And he’s still really cool looking. Plus, he’s got super buff tentacles! You could end up like that! You don’t have to stay in the form that looks like a… you know.”  I didn’t want to say the word again.

Octolings have always been an important part of Octarian society. They’re smart, they’re strong, they’re fast. DJ Octavio himself was an Octoling. But, even with their many advantages, the way Octolings looked was an issue. While most Octarians were identifiable by huge eyes, huge lips, and huge tentacles, Octolings looked similar to the sworn enemy of Octopuses everywhere: the Inkling. Octolings even shared their ability to switch between two different forms!

The “upright” form of an Octoling was like a punch in the face, a constant reminder of who had repeatedly driven us underground throughout history. And the fact that they could easily blend in on the surface didn’t escape the rest of us, either. This was why the DJ always stayed in cephalo-form – as solidarity among octopuses.

“So that’s that,” Marina said. “You still wanna be my friend? Even though I’m an Octoling?”

“Marina,” I said, “my guardian’s a Twintacle, my teacher’s a Sniper-type, everyone else in my nest is  Troopers and Copter-types. Why would having a friend who’s different bother me? You could be the weirdest-looking Octoling in the Underground and it still wouldn’t matter! I know you’re not a traitor! I know you’re not gonna leave for the surface!”

 

 _Yet here I am, trying to stop her from leaving for the surface,_ I thought as the building came into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three is finally here! I hope you're all enjoying Porter's adventures. There's a lot to take in during this chapter, especially when it comes to Octarian culture. It's a lot more lore-heavy than the last two!
> 
> Some additional information: this memory would take place right around the time Marina got put on the Flooder design team, so she's a very busy little genius right now. I really don't like thinking of the Octarians as being so military-minded that they'd overwork their own kids (or, in this case, adopted severages), so she's got plenty of time to play after work, too. 
> 
> Also, I might make a third illustration for this later. I don't feel right having two so close together and then a wall of text.


	4. Pt. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Officer Inkwell is on the case! Or maybe not.

Same jug, same apartment number, same Hurler-type guardian staring at me with a basket of boots in the doorway.  I half expected to see Marina lounging on the sunken-in couch in the living room, tapping away at her Cephalo-Communicator. Instead there was a very frantic looking Trooper-type in a bowler hat turning over every small object in the house.

“ _Hurk!_ ” Marina’s Mama had wrapped me in a tight hug. I forgot how strong a Hurler-type’s tentacles were.

“Porter,” she said. “Sweet, dear, darling Porter. Is she with you?” I wriggled out of Marina’s Mama’s hold and saw light purple tearstains trailing from her eyes.

“She told me she was leaving,” I said. “She messaged me this morning and said we’d never talk again.”

Globs of translucent purple ink began to form in the corners of Marina’s Mama’s eyes. Her fat lower lip wobbled.

“A-and she didn’t tell you _where_ she was going?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“But I thought that she’d…  that you’d… I thought… _oh,_ _Porter!”_ The Hurler let out a long cry and wrapped me in another tight hug.

“ _Grrrrrrg_! H-hang on! Listen to me!” My words didn’t matter. Marina’s Mama continued to wail loudly. My head-tentacles flinched as hot ink-tears splashed against them.

“Ma’am,” a serious, deep voice interrupted. The Trooper-type had a Cephalo-Communicator wrapped in his single tentacle. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

“Of course, Officer Inkwell,” Marina’s guardian sniffed, loosening her grip on me but not letting go.

“Exactly what military rank did your daughter hold?”

“Elite Octozon. She was promoted half a year ago.”

 “And her station?”

“Her station is in a classified area. I don’t know exactly where she was positioned.”

“Octavio’s Wasabi Storehouse,” I said. Both the detective and Marina’s guardian looked over at me.

“How did you know that?” Marina’s Mama asked. “She told me that it was a classified area.”

“There was a public ceremony a few months back honoring the new Elites,” I explained. “She mentioned it on her blog, so I watched it on my Cephalo-Communicator. They said she was moving to the Storehouse in Lower Cephalon.”

“Bit young to be stationed in Lower Cephalon, isn’t she?” Officer Inkwell raised his brow at Marina’s guardian.

“Oh, she’s a prodigy, Officer!” she exclaimed. “She was an Octoweapons engineer before she started changing colors.”

“Mm-hm, mm-hm.” The Octotrooper detective quickly typed something. “Now, do you have any clues to her whereabouts? Diaries, good-bye notes, cryptic messages on the bathroom mirror? Where did you see her last?”

“She went to the Octavio concert last night!” I said.

“Yyyyyep, that’d do it,” Officer Inkwell said. “Lots of people missing after that one. Not just kids, either. Seems they’re all heading towards the surface.”

“ _Hrrrrrblrrrphhhh!”_ Marina’s guardian’s grip on me became even tighter than my Heli-Hat.

“Towards the _surface?”_ she repeated. “Why would Marina be going towards the _surface!?_ ”

“I would play you a video clip, ma’am, but even the secondary recordings have people changing sides. Let’s just say that _someone_ crashed the concert and played a certain _squid_ song.”

Marina’s guardian loosened her grip on me. It looked a bit like she was staring at the wall behind Officer Inkwell, but her eyes were unfocused. She was in shock.

“Don’t any of you worry, I’m going to bring her back,” I said. “She’ll listen to me. She’s my best friend!”

“Leave that to us professionals,” Officer Inkwell said. “It could be dangerous.”

“Why?”

Officer Inkwell set down his Communicator and looked straight up into my eyes.

“Listen, son. I know you’re worried about your friend. You gotta understand, that song has a terrible, terrible power. Like it or not, she’s on the Inklings’ side now.”

“She won’t try to hurt me,” I muttered.

“You don’t know that,” he said.” Do you really think you could go up against an Elite?”

“No…”

“Good. Now I’m sure there’s something productive that you could be doing with your time. ‘A diligent tentacle catches more crabs,’ after all.”

“You’re right. If I leave now, I’ll even be early for my shift at Takosports Outlet. I’ll head over there right away and see if they need any extra help.” I waved good-bye and swallowed the big ball of ink-spit building in my throat as I shut the door to Marina’s nest.

I hated lying so much.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get three guesses as to what kind of leaf is in Office Inkwell's cap.


	5. Pt. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porter recalls a class field trip to a frightening place...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks for user Metalopod for the original idea of the Chamber!
> 
> Apologies for no images with this chapter, my tablet pen is missing and until I find it again, I can't illustrate this. I hope you enjoy the story itself nonetheless!

“Marina! Sit next to me!”

“Porter, you’re _huge_ now. I won’t fit on the seat!”

“Then sit in front of me!”

I remembered the day well. Marina was fully developed into an Octoling form, her skin adjusted to a rich dark brown color. She was wearing a t-shirt that said WASABEATS on it, a little wasabi-shaped pin in her tentacle hair. There was a pink bandage across her nose. She morphed into a black-and-red octopus form as she sat in the seat in front of me.

The “junior briefing mission” had everyone’s tentacles writhing in excitement, especially since Marina’s Octozon training class was going to be there. Marina had become super popular over the last few years due to her engineering work on the Octoweapons and everyone was always trying to talk to her. I felt a little bit smug that Marina still picked the seat in front of me.

Marina’s class and the kids in my Level 1 Military class were all being herded into a suspended Octorail car. A box of strange-looking headphones sat near the front door.

“Settle down, young soldiers, settle down,” the Copter-type chaperone at the front of the car was saying. “The Octorail is about to make departure, so please remain in your seats!”

The Octorail car rattled for a good twenty seconds, then began to travel upwards to the top of the dome.

“Now then,” the Copter-type began, “the Octotronica Beats provided by DJ Octavio and his subordinates keep our Underground home running smoothly. They have many wonderful properties, such as increasing troop morale and calming down nervous Octarians. Different types of music are played at different times, so that each Octarian can maintain a healthy living schedule.”

“We know, already!” a Trooper-type in the back of the Octorail yelled. 

The Copter-type widened his eyes and began walking towards the back of the car. A hush fell over the students.

“Do you know,” the Copter-type asked, “what is considered _Falling Out Of Line?”_

“Of course I do,” the Trooper-type said. “Givin’ up your loyalty to the Deej. Doing stuff that’ll betray the whole Octarian race. That kinda biz.”

“And do you know what happens to Octarians who Fall Out Of Line?”

“Uhhh, they get punished, I guess.”

“And how would you punish an Out Of Line Octarian?”

“Hang ‘em up by their tentacles and kick ‘em until they cry!”  Giggles filled the air.

“No. Wrong.” The Copter-type said. He turned back to the rest of the Octorail and began speaking to the rest of the bus again. “Young soldiers, what we are about to show you today is a punishment vastly superior and more civilized than any form of torture.”

“The Chamber of Infinite Dancing,” Marina whispered. “So _that’s_ what the headphones are for.”

“The what?” I asked.

“The Chamber of Infinite Dancing,” she repeated. “I researched it a few months ago. The DJ turns up the power of the Beats really high and sticks you in there for weeks. You come out without a thought in your head except how totally loyal you are to the Octarian race.”

“He can do that?”

“What can’t he do?” Marina asked. “He’s a genius.”

“ _You_ are a genius,” I reminded her. “Could you do something like that?”

“What do you think I was researching it for?” she grinned. “Still can’t figure out how Beats work, though.”

Sure enough, the Chamber was below us now. It looked like a massive dance club, with searchlights and strobes on the rooftop, the words “CHAMBER OF INFINITE DANCING” written in lights above a set of golden double doors. The Octorail parked itself far away from the entrance.

“Do NOT remove your earphones,” the Copter-type warned. “Doing so may expose you to the enhanced Beats leaking out of the Chamber.”

Everyone grabbed a pair of headphones and filed out of the Octorail one by one. The Copter-type pointed with his tail at two headphone-wearing Octostriker guards and a Kook-type, who was thrashing about in the Strikers’ grasp.

“He was caught having communications with Inklings,” The Copter-type had to yell so we could hear them over our headphones. “This is very typical Out Of Line behavior.”

The prisoner and his escorts entered the Chamber.

“What’s it like in there?” I shouted at Marina.

“Probably a bunch of Octarians standing around and drooling.” Marina was impatiently fidgeting with her hairpin. “Nobody who’s been in can remember what happened.”

“That’s scary,” I said.

“Better than torture,” Marina said. “which is what the Inkling Menace does.”

“No chit-chat!” the Copter-type barked.

The double doors opened again and out of them came the two Octostriker guards. This time they had a Twintacle soldier with them. The Twintacle’s expression was completely blissed out, his jaw slack and eyes out of focus.

The Octostrikers and their charge approached us. All the students gathered around to get a better look at the reformed prisoner.

“It sure is a great day to worship DJ Octavio,” the Twintacle slurred loudly enough for all of us to hear.

“He’ll be like this for the next few months while he recovers from the Beats,” one of the Octostrikers said. “Poor guy. I sure wouldn’t want to be stuck in there!”

_If Marina tries to escape, she’ll be taken to that Chamber,_ I thought, _and there’s no telling what she’ll be like when she comes out!_

The trolley stopped in front of the shopping district just outside of the Slimeskin Garrison, one of Marina’s favorite haunts. I was hoping with every last bit of my diligence that I would find her here.

**Author's Note:**

> I always end up writing angst even when I don't wanna write angst! Oh well.
> 
> If you liked this work, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease leave a comment. Even "great story" is better than just kudos.


End file.
